Poezja

Inside, the battle wages.
One step down,
I drown myself in the frowns
of a thought. Night sucks at my fear.

The rhyme of the fading moon
intends to fix me up.
I refuse to smell the breath
of the catch.

I bloom on the pain,
sweetened kill of the day. An empty jump
in void of a portrait;
shaking wall.

Watercolors were ruined
by smudging the reasons.
Clutching the bones of winds, falling
from the sky.